


His Lifeline

by DandyAceInSpace



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, female receiving, male receiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16658098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandyAceInSpace/pseuds/DandyAceInSpace
Summary: Anon requested: these smut prompts are just hjnbjksjjdj ahhh i really need you to write something with the lines 41 and 52. maybe something where Hux is being a workaholic and neglecting the reader? anyway, idk if you're taking requests but i'd really love it 💕💕41. “If i have to stop what i’m doing, you won’t be able to walk for the next week.”52. “We have to be quiet.”





	His Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> hi this was supposed to be short but i got carried away

It’s almost unsettling how quiet the Supremacy is during the night cycle. Wrapped in a fluffy black robe to cover your thinner silken nightgown, and matching black flats, you silently walk through the dim halls. You pass a few guards, but they don’t pay you any mind. None wish to be falsely accused of ogling the dear General’s wife.

 

You huff out a soft laugh to yourself, knowing that the only one to accuse them of such would be your dear husband himself. He was always so fiercely protective of you. It made it that much harder to understand why he’s left you in a cold bed for the last two weeks.

 

The door is almost mocking as you stare down its metallic face. Your hand reaches out multiple times to punch in your access code but falls short of the buttons each time. You came here on an angry whim, fury and hurt fueling your movements, but now you feel defeated. Ready to give up and head back to your quarters, the door slides open, the grating of metal almost deafening without the daytime background noise of the ship.

 

It’s now or never. Stepping inside, you easily slip off your flats, thanking the Maker that his office is carpeted. After crossing the vast expanse of his office - honestly, how much did one need - you sit in the chair opposite to him. You look to him and then to the large window behind him that showcases the blackness of space. Stars twinkle, the colors of nebulas ebb and flow, as this hulking ship of misery speeds through.

 

It feels off. Armitage has always been a cold and calculating man; he has to be. This is different. He hasn’t even looked up from the small stack of papers; he just keeps scribbling away as he mutters nonsense. He has to acknowledge you eventually, right? You shift to the edge of your seat.

 

“I heard you coming to the door,” he says.

 

“What?”

 

“The door, I heard your footsteps approach then pause, so I opened the door.”

 

You left out a soft, “Oh.” How he was able to answer a question before you even thought to ask it, you don’t know. Maybe you were more tired than you seemed.

 

“You, um, you didn’t come to bed. You haven’t for weeks. I’m worried about you,” you say.

 

His lips pull up into a small smirk and he chuckles, “Worried? What for? You’re going to work yourself up over nothing.”

 

“It’s just, you work so hard all the time, and I’m worried you’re not sleeping or eating or-”

 

“Y/N, I’m a grown man, and I know how to take care of myself,” he says rather harshly.

 

“I know, I know, Armitage. I know you can,” you sigh, your voice becoming hushed as disappointment settled through you, “I miss you, I haven’t seen you in the day or at night. I just- I just miss my husband.”

 

He tuts in response. Your hands immediately fist at your robe, so you don’t slam them on the desk. You hoped he would at least have been happy to see you. Happy to know that you cared so much.

 

“And how do you hope to survive if I have to go on a mission? Be away from you for, possibly, months at a time?”

 

“Now you’re just being cruel! How dare you scorn my feelings?!” You bark at him. Still, he scribbles on.

 

“Don’t get upset, Y/N, what did I say about working yourself up over nothing? Anguish doesn’t suit you.” Again he smirks, a horribly charming smirk.

 

Tears have welled up in the corners of your eyes, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing his words get to you. It may be a little too late for that though.

 

“Am I just a pretty face to you?”

 

“Go to bed, my love. You’re tired,” he warns.

 

“No.”

 

For the first time this night, his head snaps up, and he looks at you. By the Maker, he actually looks at you.

 

“Excuse me?” He asks, not out of curiosity, but rather he’s not used to being disobeyed.

 

“I haven’t been able to sleep in two weeks. Going to bed will do nothing for me.”

 

His jaw tenses before he goes back to writing. Stubborn, stubborn man! But, unfortunately for him, you’re stubborn too. Perhaps that’s why your relationship has survived some of its worst rough patches. Pure spite.

 

You lean back in the chair and unfasten your robe, the room now unbearably hot. As you turn to hang it around the back of the chair, through the corner of your eyes, you can see Armitage not-so-subtly gazing at your nightgown. His eyes roam over your body, taking in the lithe outline of your back. When you turn back to face him, his head immediately drops back to his paperwork.

 

You glance down at your nightgown to see the fuss about it yourself. Its design was forgotten when you had left your room in a fit of rage to track him down.

 

Silk and black, the hem barely covering your thighs when you were seated as you are now. Thin spaghetti straps have it loosely holding onto you, and the fabric was barely a touch above see-through. You never bothered with a bra when you slept, so no doubt that your nipple were exposed and visible if he would just look at you. Your panties weren’t anything glamorous, but they too were made of very little fabric. A surprise if he had just come home to you.

 

That was it.

 

There have only been three arguments like the one you’re having now. Armitage always turns distant when he’s stressed. He convinces himself that he’s unworthy of everything he’s worked for. His title, his power, but most importantly - you. So he throws himself into work. If he can climb higher, gain more control, then he’ll finally be worthy.

 

He needs to work.

 

But you’re going to awaken some more… carnal needs.

 

Letting out a yawn, you stretch your arms above your head, pushing your chest out. He glances at you for a mere second before returning to his work. So, you rest your hand on your knee before slowly dragging it up your thigh. You continue up your stomach, pulling the fabric higher so he can see the hem of your panties as it disappears between your legs. His writing falters, and you know that you’ve got his full attention.

 

You drop the nightgown from your grip, arms coming to wrap around your frame as you fake being cold. But, of course, you push your breasts closer together. The fabric strains against the swell of them, nipples prominent and begging for him to free them.

 

He sighs in defeat, letting his pen drop to the desk. “ **If I have to stop what I’m doing, you won’t be able to walk for the next week** ,” he growls out.

 

You easily slide one of the straps down your shoulder, his eyes drinking in every moment. “You’ve neglected me, Armitage, left me unfucked for so long. Did you really think I wouldn’t take my pleasure into my own hands?”

 

He takes the papers and lines them up neatly before storing them in the drawer. He clears his desk of any other loose items before pushing his chair back from it. But he doesn’t rise. Instead, he merely pats his lap.

 

It was probably comical how desperate you looked as you ran from the chair to his lap. You couldn’t care though, couldn’t care at all. His hands felt euphoric as they traced up your thighs, your sides, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your hips. Even underneath you, he remained formidable, constant.

 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders though they quickly abandon them for his hair. His lustrous hair, always so soft, so so enticing to touch. He groans happily when you carefully scratch his scalp; he always did find it comforting. You smile to yourself, burying your face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, playing with the strands of ginger hair.

 

Oh, how you’ve missed him, his warmth, his scent. Coffee, pine, and spice, you swore up and down to yourself. Nothing like the metal and plastic of the stormtroopers. Nothing like Kylo’s weird smell of burning smoke. Always subtle, always him, always home.

 

He takes ahold of your shoulders, pushing you far enough away so that his hands can slip up to cup your cheeks. He looks at you, a smile playing on his lips. The pain and frustration in his eyes melt into adoration. Bringing your face down as he leans up, your lips finally meet in a cherished kiss.

You could weep at how safe his lips felt, how familiar. You didn’t want to leave, yes, you could live a picturesque life like this. But alas, he pulls back, gently stroking your cheek as he apologizes. Over and over again does the word ‘sorry’ leave his lips.

 

“My darling, my love, forgive me. I can’t believe what I said to you. Words of a foolish man, I can’t- I’m sorry, more than you know,” he rambles on.

 

You hush him with another sweet kiss to his full lips, “Armitage, please, breathe. I’m just so glad to be in your arms again.”

 

He hugs you tightly to him, hand stroking your back soothingly. “I’ve been a terrible husband and an even worse lover.”

 

You pull back from him, a devious smile tugging at your lips as you walk your fingers up his chest. “Well… there’s never a bad time to make up for mistakes.”

 

He laughs, and your heart swells. Have you died and gone to a rich promised land? If so, you’re delighted to know that you can spend eternity with him.

 

“Why don’t you sit on the desk and I’ll make up for lost time? **We have to be quiet though** , no one else is allowed to hear your delectable little sounds,” he suggests with a squeeze to your ass.

 

You let out a squeal of excitement, leaving his lap to perch at the edge of his desk. He scoots the chair closer to you, gazing up at you with radiant awe. He rests his hands on your knees and pushes your legs apart as you bite your lip. The smell of your quivering sex hits you, potent and wanting, aching for him.

 

“Did you really do it? Take your pleasure into your own hands, I mean?” He whispers.

 

“A few nights, yes, I wanted you so bad. I still do.”

 

His gaze flickers from you to your clothed cunt, and back up. “Will you show me?”

 

You clench at the thought and eagerly nod. This is something you’ve both discussed but have yet to act on. Now that the idea is presenting itself to you both, how could you refuse?

 

He nods back, but it’s more to assure himself that you’re real. You’re real and spread before him like the most tantalizing meal in the galaxy. You want him; you need him, you love him.

 

With shaky hands, he tugs your panties down your legs before discarding them to the floor. Your scent is overwhelming now, permeating the air with your desire. He presses chaste kisses up your left shin, ready when you are.

 

Holding his gaze, your right-hand slide through your folds, gathering the pre-existing slick on your fingers. You languidly thrust against your hand as you massage tight circles on your clit, feeling your arousal pool within your belly. His name is a whisper on your lips as your eyes slip shut. You add one finger to your weeping entrance at first. When one doesn’t satisfy anymore, you add a second, pumping in and out as fast as your wrist can go.

 

He lets out a choked moan, and you open your eyes, almost cumming from the sight alone. His slacks are around his thighs as he pumps his cock to your little show. The head is swollen and red, leaking precum that you wish you could taste. His shirt is pushed up, caught on the chair when he sunk lower into it. You can see the soft folds of his stomach and the beads of sweat that fall into his fiery happy trail. You want his cock in your mouth, tangy and masculine taste flowing down your throat.

 

Your eyes meet, and you see in those radiant irises that he’s silently telling - no, promising - that you’ll have your lips on him before the night is through.

 

“Back- Back up to your clit,” he stifles out, “Rub your clit again, my sweet girl.”

 

You nod, following his instructions, and return your fingers to the bundle of nerves. Scooting even closer, he uses his free hand to place one leg over his shoulder. He playfully nips and sucks on the skin of your thigh, leaving his mark, so everyone knew who you belonged to. But Armitage Hux never liked wasting a good meal, so eagerly he buries his tongue into your dripping core.

 

You have to bite your other hand to keep from crying out. He laps at your entrance, cock still in hand as he fucks himself on your taste.

 

It’s all so overwhelming. Your hand on your clit as your husband feasts on you as if he is a man starved. That pool of arousal is burning bright now, building and building until you can’t take it anymore. You cum with a strangled sob of his name into your hand. His tongue coaxes out each wave of your feminine cream, swallowing it down greedily until he follows with his release.

 

Two weeks. Two weeks without the warmth of your body. Two whole weeks without stuffing your cunt with his seed. How did he live without you for so long?

 

He falls back into the chair, pushing his hair back and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Both of your chests are heaving as you come down from your highs. But you’re not satiated, not just yet. Standing on weak and trembling thighs, you pull your nightgown over your head before letting it fall to the floor alongside your panties. His cock twitches at the sight of your body. The light from his desk lamp surrounds you in a golden halo. His darling angel sent from the heavens.

 

You sink to your knees in front of him, pressing sloppy kisses to his navel. You nuzzle your nose into the soft ginger curls as you begin to slowly stroke his cock. He groans above you, overstimulated but restless to please you. With a few more caresses and some teasing kisses, he’s hard again in your hand.

 

His hands brush through your hair, keeping it out of your face as he watches with a flushed face. You peer up at him through your lashes as you take just the tip of his cock into your mouth. You moan as you run your tongue along the skin, the taste of sweat and cum still lingering. He sucks in a breathless gasp, swallowing thickly as you take him down your throat to the hilt. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, a mixture of pain and pure bliss.

 

Ever so slowly do you draw back until your lips rest against the end of his tip. You quietly giggle at his exhilarated face, eyes closed as he holds back his noises of pleasure. When you don’t move, he slowly opens his eyes to peer down at you. Finally, you take him back into your mouth, hand pumping what flesh you didn’t reach as you bobbed your head along his shaft.

 

It didn’t take long until he pulled your sinful lips from him. “Sorry, little dove, but I wouldn’t have lasted much longer. I need to feel your tight heat around me again.”

 

He has you stand and take your place back on his lap. His hands rest on your hips as he lines up with your entrance, and when he has it right, he slams you down onto his cock. You keen, arching your back as your loins reignite. His hands slide up your skin until he’s able to palm your breasts, rolling each nipple between his fingers. His mouth attaches to the valley between them, sucking his territorial marks into your skin.

 

You’re whispering and growling obscenities as you rock your hips against his. There’s no pace. It switches at whim between slow loving thrusts, to rough and dominating smacks of skin. He’s taking you higher than ever before, than you ever felt. It unfortunately can’t last too long. You’re both spent from earlier, and the feeling of being in each other’s embrace again is its own softer intimacy that heightens the experience.

 

His hands have moved to your ass now, his grip forceful as he repeatedly impales you harshly on his cock. You cum again, fireworks igniting behind your eyes as your walls clench around him for dear life. His face is still buried in your chest when cums. Your heated cunt milking his cock for every last drop of his seed.

 

He pushes the chair farther from the desk, hoping the new air can calm your scorching skin. You hold him close, running your fingers through his hair as you stare out the window to the stars. Without missing a beat, he notices your focus has switched. It’s almost as if he doesn’t like you not paying him attention.

 

“I would give you every last star in this galaxy, and when I become Emperor, I can and I will,” he says, his hand brushing a stray piece of hair from your face.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Armitage. I can’t wait to become your Empress.”

 

After exchanging a few more lazy kisses, you both rise from the chair. He pulls his pants back up and fastens his belt be grabbing a tissue from his desk and cleaning the mess between your thighs. After throwing it away, he picks up your nightgown and panties from the floor. He stuffs the undergarments into his pocket before helping you slip back into the gown. Next, he ties the fuzzy robe back around you and helps you slip on your shoes like a prince from a fairytale.

 

He picks you up bridal style, and carries you all the way back to your quarters, even though you insisted you could walk. Once back, and both of you are devoid of your outer clothing, you crawl into bed together. Your head against his chest, legs tangled together, and arms clinging to the other. There you lie, with your husband, happy to have him back by your side.

  
  



End file.
